Fallout Universe 1
by StormNatureX
Summary: Set about 260 years before Fallout 3. A woman who is influencial in the future, meets an earilier Obadiah Blackhall in the swamps of Point Lookout, Maryland.


Fallout Universe

Part 1

The Dark Heart of Blackhall, by StormNatureX 4-9-2013 (c.) (a.r.r.) WI USA, 2013.

Disclaimer: I do not take credit for Bethesda (or any company with whom they've worked) or Fallout games material, Fallout 3, Fallout New Vegas Ultimate Edition, or any other material someone else invented, designed, or created. This is a Fallout fan fiction, primarily. Only my own original material, where it lays, is copyrighted by me.

She traveled southeast by airline, then, switched to a rental car, a sedan, and drove down to Washington, D. C., in the heat and dust. It had to be the hottest air on record, colored tulips wilting in front of a brownstone house. The traffic whizzed by on the freeway. She shifted uncomfortably in her rental car, and sweated more, with the air conditioning, yet, going. She had thought her first airline flight was slightly nerve-wracking; the traffic presented a confusion of mostly dark colors and noise, and curving, blinding-white concrete strip. The old brick of her hotel had a new coat of white paint. Inside, hung Queen Anne crystal chandeliers. Everything was shining and white marble flecked with black. There was smooth red fabric with green and white stripes on the love seats, and streak-free glass coffee tables. She stepped to the front dusk. Her sweat-wet and darkened, champagne blond hair, hung down her forehead to her eyebrows and hung in all directions down her heaving back. Between 1980's music on the satellite radio system, some woman stated it was Monday, April eighth, in the year 2013, 4:09 P. M., and 95 degrees.

The male concierge greeted, snootily, "Welcome to The Statesman Hotel, madam."

The woman intoned, breathing rapidly, "I'm Anne Volkner, checking in." She handed the 30-something man her driver's license, wishing it didn't read "214 pounds," though, in truth, that was more than 100 pounds too light, and the majority of Americans were overweight or obese. He recorded her birth date, 4-28-1979, on the thin black, flat computer; she was almost 34-years-old. She blinked her clear, blue eyes, and breathed the cool, air-conditioned, indoor air.

Anne leisurely took the elevator to her room. It contained a double bed, whirlpool bath, shiny golden lamps, otherwise, nothing special. She attended a reservation scheduled to the rooftop restaurant, and immediately felt glad the sun had set. She dined on Neptune Rockefeller and assorted sides, and a glass of House White.

She spent the next several days touring The White House, thankfully not having to meet the President, the dark-skinned, Barack Obama, who was away, but shaking the First Lady's hand, happily, and then, staring at the blossoming cherry trees whenever possible. She moved onward to tour the history museum, the Jefferson Memorial, the smooth, pointy, Washington memorial, and the Rivet City aircraft carrier, permanently stationed on the Potomac River, and a famous, curving bridge, across the Potomac. Everything was surrounded with life and cars, and people from all over the world. The streetlights and signs lit up their neon during the night, and the glass shimmered during the day. Thousands of houses, fast-food joints, and grocery stores surrounded the city on both sides of the River - Maryland and Virginia. Green trees of every type and description, encircled by flowers and mowed lawns, stood between everything. She briefly toured Arlington Cemetery and couldn't help except to admire how neatly it remained manicured. Many people in business suits and skirts walked hurriedly through the Nation's Mall area, in front of the Capitol Building, and it's opposite, the Lincoln Memorial. Anne had never seen that many people dressed up, or wearing suits! They simply didn't do that in her hometown, and she felt it was a shame that they didn't.

The weather cooled to around 80 degrees as she drove in her dark-blue, sedan-type car, in the afternoon, down through Maryland, toward the beaches. She truly loved the eastern ocean, hadn't seen it since she was 18, and was greatly looking forward to that. She began to drive through the swamp. Water covered the road in places. Her hearted sped up, wondering if she should cross it. Thick, dark mud seemed to suck everywhere at the thin-type trees. A couple road signs warned of sink-holes. Anne finally arrived in Point Lookout, at the tip of the peninsula. She drove by it, first - to tour the lighthouse, and all except the upper third of it stood inside a building constructed around it, which had been erected much later than it was built.

She parked near an empty boardwalk area. The land darkened towards evening as if shading it's self. A hazy fog crept everywhere, and sinking was the smudged sun setting slowly in salmon and golden curtains, behind the vernal swamp. The night gradually came alive. Frogs in their millions began to croak and chirp and chorus. Some insects hummed. The warm wind blew softly through spring-green grasses. Anne wished the gardenia had been blooming already amongst the pale-khaki sand dunes. She didn't feel small beside the ocean (though, that was Chesapeake Bay at which she looked) - she felt ancient, welcomed by it, like she was a part of it all. Some old oak trees stood proudly to the northwest, and to the east, rose a wide hill, though, not that tall, covered in fresh moss. A couple wooden buildings for the Point Lookout National Park Service stood near the docks, and would have been the only things to have marred the landscape, but it grew dark, and the darkness hid any signs of civilization. She sat on a rough, greenish, wooden park bench on the beach, the lapping and sighing waves calling to her. She thought, "If only I could swim," and, "I wonder if I could dig up any big conch shells this far inland, or catch some crabs." She had tried the famous Maryland crab cakes, and wasn't disappointed.

Those were prehistoric lands, Civil War prison camp, lands, and it was supposedly, the most haunted place in Maryland. Anne might have liked to see a ghost there, wondering through the fog, but she wasn't sure. She thought, "Then, again, I might scare IT more." Lightning flickered in the purple distance to the west. She hoped it would storm - she felt it was exciting.

She lived in the woods all her life and felt a sense of peace. She thought it was like home. She somehow realized she meandered through the cooling, dark, damp swamp, where it met the happier beach; the wooded swamplands enveloped one like a different world. She looked around, and suddenly didn't recognize anything. Anne thought, yet, in a pleasant mood, "I'm sure I'll come out of here sometime - sooner or later." The clouds parted a little and a waxing crescent moon shone white-yellow overhead. It gave little light. Then, as one of the shadows, a dark silhouette appeared, like the small top of a building. Anne was unsure if she had seen correctly at first. She breathed out quickly, unaware she held the breath in. She proceeded calmly, stumbling some on the roots, towards the shape.

It stood completely hidden downwards in the swamp, whatever it was. She finally came close enough, gasping for breath by that point, to almost run into a round, porch column. She backed up several feet and saw the moonlight shine on waters directly next to the northeast side of the house. The house was absolutely huge. It stood lighter gray out of the dark swamp. Frogs croaked everywhere. She loved frogs and toads, but she was beginning to think the owners must have to shut their windows tightly to maintain their sanity. It must definitely be fresh water, remembering easily that amphibians drink water through their permeable skins. If any place was worth haunting - it certainly was that light gray, hulking house. It had the look of something dark, which was not at rest - something shifting, scurrying, blowing purposely, and able to suffocate.

Anne wondered if it was a Victorian house. She loved huge, old, mansion houses, and their large, curving staircases! It certainly remained something cultured and styled in which she was not raised, growing up, but something for which she had always longed.

She wasn't sure if she should enter, but a rustling came from a nearby bush, and she leapt to the old, wooden door. If the white-looking front columns said anything, she was going to love the house.

She crept inside and looked around. Vine grew all over the floor and walls. Anne wondered if it was deserted. The ceiling was a little speckled with mildew in a few places. However, a few lights actually burned inside. A few bulbs shone in old-fashioned ceiling and wall fixtures. In front of her in the darkness was a light-creamed colored couch, quite plain, like the 1940's. The door to her right immediately opened into a large kitchen, with no sink, two stoves, and one refrigerator, which held nothing except booze and an old Salisbury steak, TV dinner. She saw no television, or radio in the front entrance room. She walked down the hallway and stopped at two, open, double doors. A staircase curved to the second-floor balconies of what was obviously a library, the walls completely covered in tall shelves, with rotting books strewn around, all hardcover, and a few on the floor. Every floor was covered with vines and some type of ancient, flowered, dark red carpeting, also, decayed tight to the floor. That floor might have been marble - she couldn't tell. Old papers also stuck to it's dusty surface, as if glued on as part of the decor forever. She moved a few more steps into the large room. One light glowed feebly from a four-light chandelier, almost over her head and on the right side of the room.

A male voice shocked her, "What are you doing in my house?"

She screamed, "Ahh!" as her lungs seemed to jump out of her throat. She quickly glanced down and in front of her right side. An old man sat in a wheelchair. Two tanks and some tubing were set directly behind and to the left of him. Anne finally remembered to speak, and she thought of an answer, "I was just admiring the architecture. I thought this place was abandoned."

She could see the many, thick wrinkles, horizontally cascading down his face from that distance. He was dressed in an orange-green, argyle, sweater-vest, and what was once a white, long-sleeved shirt, with dark-brown slacks and leather shoes, wearing something like in the 1940's. His smooth, white hair, was combed neatly across his head, but he didn't seem to be missing any hair underneath that, and it was cut neatly on the sides; he, also, had short, white sideburns, like from the latter, nineteenth century. He was thin, but full of frame, though, she, yet, thought he was, perhaps, the oldest man she had ever encountered. Beady, or staring, light blue eyes, seemed to throw darts at her. He spoke in a croaky, grumpy, proud voice, sounding quite stubborn, but a little nice, "Well, Blackhall Manor isn't abandoned - not yet. But I appreciated your good taste. Come, let's talk."

There stood a green-leather armchair next to a tiny, red-wooden desk, and a green desk lamp, which was turned on. It stood against the wall, cross-ways from his chair, about two-and-a-half-feet away. She sat gratefully, but tentatively. She wasn't good at conversation, or at least, she thought she wasn't.

The old man continued, somehow sounding a little sickly sweet, or coercing, "Good... good... People should be able to sit and have a conversation. Civil discourse, the greatest of our arts. Wouldn't you agree?"

Anne responded, feeling almost choked, "I couldn't agree more."

He continued, amiably, "I'm glad you think so. These swamp folk can't be counted on for anything except to occasionally shoot at each other."

Anne replied, "I didn't see any."

He answered, "You must be new here."

She spoke, "I'm from Wisconsin. Who are you?"

He replied, proudly, "Obadiah Blackhall, the last of the Blackhall family legacy."

Anne answered, thinking that she said it somewhat stupidly, "Anne. It's my name." He didn't make the slightest move to shake her hand, and therefore, she didn't extend it. Anne continued, "Well, how old is this place?"

He stated, "I don't suppose there's any harm in indulging you. Hundreds of years. And still standing strong. You're within a fine example of Victorian architecture."

Anne asked, "This place is named after your family?"

He responded, "Just as much as we're named after it. We took the Blackhall name when we arrived on these shores, generations ago."

She smoothed the long, dark-blue skirt over her legs, the dark blue, plastic slides on her swollen feet sticking out far from beneath it, but the swamp water must have washed the mud off; and she wondered what to say next. She could see a little fog drifting inside the house, it's self, at various heights throughout the room. The air felt humid and somewhat thick to her lungs, but goose bumps slightly rose on her bare forearms. She would have crossed her arms, but she thought her braless breasts might be too large (they were a size 62, J cup, after all). She noticed that her medium-blue, cotton-knit T-shirt had some black dirt smeared on the front, as it off-set her pale, moon-colored skin.

Obadiah intoned, absently, but with feeling, "You should have seen this place 30 years ago!" Obadiah continued, manipulatively, "Would it have killed you to wipe your feet?"

Anne wondered what he could possibly see on her shoes, and she felt sorry for his carpeting, for only a second, however. She glanced up and around nervously, and spoke, "Well, I guess I should go..."

Obadiah responded, forcefully, "Hold on a minute." She wondered for what reason he could possibly want her to do that.

She rose to her feet, and took a shaky step forward, her legs a little numb from running through the swamp and then, sitting. She was glad she hadn't had to peel the skin of her thighs, which were covered by the skirt, off the leather. She dusted some dried burrs from the front of the skirt, and noticed, thankfully, and with a sigh of greatest relief, that she actually had shaved her thick legs, for once, at least below the knees, for the vacation.

She expressed, slowly, "I really should get back to the car."

He seemed to rise quickly, and almost in a blur, he had his hands locked in a painful, cold, steel grip, on her upper arms. She only had time to gasp, "Ow!" Keeping hold of one arm, he brushed her hair back on the right side, as she leaned away from him in revulsion, and he did sink his teeth into her tight flesh.

The pain seared through her neck excruciatingly, and then, seemed to grow numb. A whooshing, and nauseous feeling spread through her. Then, was the strangest thing, she thought she was being aroused, sexually, an aching growing through her loins. She felt she would almost start floating. She thought, "What is this? What the hell is he doing?" Her mind screamed some label at her, for what he was, but she thought it couldn't possibly be true. Then, she felt a sinking. She couldn't breathe well. She seemed to be starting to drown, being pulled down into some unfathomable darkness. She knew, instantly, "He's draining my blood away! I'm being killed!" She had read descriptions of death by blood loss.

She managed to croak out, "Stop it! I can't die like this! I'm still an ultra-virgin!" as if that would stop him. Yet, she was falling in the darkness of her mind, or was it, in his mind - it was all confused to her for a few moments at a time. She would pass out, and that would be the end of her. She didn't want to die, but there was some part of her that had always wanted it to be over. She considered giving in to him, and allowing Death to take her down. She screamed at her self, in her head, "No! It's too soon!" Suddenly, she drew up the strength - from all the rage and bitterness of being left alone for many, many years - and bit him back, in his neck!

She ripped open the old man's throat - using all the jaw muscles from decades of over-eating and grinding her teeth in nervousness - and vermilion blood rushed into her mouth.

She spat it out, coughing, "Uh!" Remarkably, he pushed her away from him, releasing his icy grip. He grabbed his throat reflexively, and seemed to be far more injured than the damage Anne thought she had inflicted.

She stood there, sucking-in air, staggering under her weight and her rushing, pounding brain.

Then, another astounding thing - he straightened and stood there - staring at her. He seemed actually perplexed.

The flow of blood had already ceased from his neck. Then, he looked somewhat disgusted and walked directly past her. Her entire body flinched away from him. He proceeded out the open doorway, and his footsteps sounded down the hall.

She felt aghast - shocked! She turned around quickly, wasting no time, she thought, "Because time flies," and realized she was dizzy or something similar. She wasn't thinking clearly. She thought, she mustn't be too hard on her self for that. She ran to the door and out into the much cooler air, and slammed it shut! The mosquitoes buzzed and the frogs droned, as she staggered onward. She turned south and walked as quickly as she could. She could not really run because of her damnable weight. She went, perhaps, 50 feet southwest, and was shocked, as she stumbled into the water. She realized she hadn't gone far from the beach at all. In fact, she was on it! She ran southeast toward her car, as well as she could manage. She fumbled for her car keys in her skirt pocket, climbed inside hurriedly, and slammed the door, and she locked all of the doors. She turned the key in the ignition, terrified he'd come out of the dark to claim her, again! The engine purred and she rolled up all the windows electronically. She felt a strange, dark-rushing in her head, but she ignored it. She clamped a hand to her neck and shoulder, but it didn't seem to be bleeding anymore. Then, turning on the car's road lights, she sped down the dark, dirt roads, and towards the highway, then, the freeway, the possible safety of her hotel, and D. C.!

Anne awoke in clean, white sheets and quilted, king-size mattress, to mid-afternoon sunshine streaming on her face. It was quite possibly the brightest, hottest light she had ever experienced. She sheltered her face with her hands and wrenched the draperies shut. She almost stumbled into the plain, white bathroom. She sat on the cold, hard toilet and breathed a sigh of relief. She admired the clean, utilitarian look of the bathroom. The little white soaps sat wrapped and bottled on the fake-marble sink counter. The white towels and washcloths were stuffed, rolled into their little metal rack, which she assumed would soon rust. She wore an old, blue T-shirt and she lifted it to scratch randomly on her large, round belly. She was scratching away, and feeling exhausted by the daylight, when a piece of something fell off. She stared down in the sterile bathroom lighting and realized her belly had turned gray. She placed her plump, long fingers to a new indentation of her stomach and was startled. She grabbed the greasy, oozing flesh, and ripped off a huge chunk. Then, she desperately lifted the whole thing and removed her, surprisingly heavy, belly flesh. She couldn't believe it! There appeared to be new, pink-white skin underneath it. She could actually see her pubic hair! She hadn't done that since high school. She pulled the tough flesh off her inner, left thigh. She tried the right thigh, but some of it was sore, she supposed, yet, changing, and wouldn't come away. She decided to leave it alone and not suffer any scars. She flushed and threw the gray flesh in the tub/shower combination, and washed her hands. She felt extremely tired and went back to bed. She dreamed she was in a public swimming pool, indoors, off of an old nursing home, and following hallways that slanted upwards, which she could barely climb by hanging onto the walls; but she couldn't swim, and she couldn't quite breathe when she tried, though, she was above the water. Her dad tried to help her, but she didn't believe him, and the water became too low, on the other end to where they had waded, and some fat, young guy, and she was scared he'd knock her off balance and she'd drown, and he came over and kissed her on the mouth, but she was separated away from her body at the time (who was she?), merely watching, and couldn't feel anything (which sucked); and they were closing up at 5 P. M. for the next swimmers who were arriving. How did she move through the locker room and find out of there? (She was sick of mazes in dreams, out of which she couldn't find.) She awoke gasping for breath.

It was dark. The blackness seemed cold and impenetrable. She felt along her breasts and yanked most of them off her body. The flesh, also, slipped from the tops of her hands. She almost sat up. She was going to scream, but she choked, and fell backwards like dead weight. Her breath had stopped. Her heart stopped. She stared into buzzing, swirling blackness.

She must have lost consciousness. She floated weightless up to the ceiling, and she was seeing everything, though, she couldn't see it, and she saw through everything. She knew where everything was located. Why didn't she see any lights? Why didn't she see her mother?

She awakened in a pool of ice. She took a breath in, like being born - the first breath. Something was wrong. Her lungs inflated, but it didn't make any difference. She was extremely thirsty. She didn't know when she had realized it, but then, it became unbearable. A little streetlight streamed inside through cracks around the edges of the curtains. She realized she saw quite well. She ran to the bathroom sink and gulped down warm, treated, city water. She waited. It didn't help. She panicked and reached around inside her black, lockable, duffle bag, to find a can of A and W root beer. She gulped it down, partially, and it, yet, didn't make any difference.

She ran out into the rather narrow hallway, and realized she was mostly naked and gray strands of rotting flesh hung off of her body. She darted back into the room. She turned on some of the lights and compulsively picked the gray pieces off. She decided to show quickly and noticed that she was skinny. She jumped out of the shower and ran to the closet doors, which were a full-length mirror. She felt stunned into silence. She looked beautiful, alluring, and rather dangerous somehow. She stroked her teeth with her left thumb, and two eye teeth were a little sharper. Her hair was new, a rich, light brown, her natural color, and somehow shinier. Her breasts looked a perfect, size C. She couldn't believe it. She could have stared at them, alone, for hours. She heard a housefly buzz near the clock-radio. She could read it's green, florescent numbers exactly, though, she stood 10 feet away, and normally wore glasses for being slightly near-sighted (Gucci brand, of course). She finished the shower that she somehow felt she didn't need, anymore. She dressed in her standard, blue, skirt outfit, but she couldn't keep it from falling off of her body; it kept slipping down. She would never wear belts. She had to keep the skirt up by holding unto it with her left hand. She slipped in the slides, and her feet were as long as before, but not swollen, and she felt the shoes would fall off at any minute. She thought, she definitely needed a new woredrobe! She always had, but one couldn't find anything good, or much of anything, at her previous sizes. At that moment exactly, she decided to call her self Kate. She wanted change it since she was a teenager. She grabbed her stupid, gray, old purse, from the 80's, her departed grandma had lent her. She moved quickly down to her car, and she wasn't quite sure she had moved at all - it was that rapid! She felt like she had moved as a shadow, or a gust of wind. She saw no people walking, and started driving. After three blocks, she glimpsed a white man and a black man, wandering the streets. They both were dressed in similar, casual clothes. She could feel the heat of their blood, noticed the outlines of their veins (if such a thing were possible), and scented them as something delicious. It was strong and she almost collided with a light-pole. She sped up, however, using all her self-control, and perhaps, a little luck, and racing out of the city. She drove south, and breathed in the cool, night air. The night birds sang to her, the frogs chirped to her, the toads almost waved "hello" in the dark brush, and the trees waved her name at her in sweet tendrils. The risen moon was a shower of beauty. The cool winds crawled over her luminescent skin. New colors roamed all over the land, especially a swirling, red type of lavendar. She realized she must be seeing a new light spectrum. She wondered if, and how many other creatures, could see it.


End file.
